Her large dark eyes, which are the same shade as her buzzed hair, crinkle with a grin.
“Try not to kill me too much,” I add.
She laughs. “Why? Do you have a hot date tonight?”
“Yes.” When her eyes spark with intrigue, I add, “With Mom and the TV.”
“You lead an exciting life.”
I’m aware my Friday night could be a tad more exciting, but once I make it big, I’ll be out on the road or at parties all the time. The thought catches me by such surprise that I drop my bag and jacket on the floor instead of on the bench.
Where’s this confidence when I need it?
8
Even Lawyers Have Pinterest Boards
When I get home, Mom’s sitting at the round table, sipping a glass of wine while flipping through a fabric sampler. She runs her fingers over a piece of violet raw silk. “Hey, baby. How were your lessons?”
“Great.” I grab an ice-cold bottle of water from the fridge, then walk over to her and sit, stubbing my toe against the fossilized tree-trunk base. I always stub my toe against it even though we’ve had the same table for over ten years now. “Why didn’t you tell me Mr. Mansion’s son goes to my school?”
“Mr. Mansion?”
“Jeff Dylan.”
“Oh.” She runs the tip of her finger down the stem of her glass. “Jeff didn’t want me talking about his family.”
“Why? He’s an entertainment lawyer, not a movie star.”
“Does that mean he’s not allowed privacy?”
I frown. “I just meant that a heads-up would’ve been nice.”
She returns her attention to the fabric sampler.
“Does he represent anyone famous in the music industry?” I ask, before guzzling down some water.
“I didn’t ask.”
“I bet he does.” Considering his new mansion, he must have some serious heavyweights in his roster of clients.
“Angie…”
Even though Mom doesn’t finish her sentence, she doesn’t have to. I understand her the same way she understands me—she doesn’t want me to pester himorhis son. Not that I ever would. Even though a connection would be nice, I’d rather make my own way in the world.
“So? Does he have a clue about what he wants?”
“Believe it or not, he doesn’t just have a clue. He has an entire Pinterest board.”
“Whoa. Does he have good taste?”
She slides her tablet between us, taps in her security code, and brings up the Pinterest app. She types his name, and his home decor board materializes.
I scroll through it, surprised. “Is he really going to put a swing over his swimming pool?”
“His daughter would like him to.”
“What’s his budget?”
